


pas de deux [johnten angst]

by IridescentAesthete



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Bombs, Break Up, Chicago (City), Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Heartbreak, I'm Sorry, Knives, M/M, Mentioned Moon Taeil, Mild Blood, Pain, Poker, Post-Break Up, Regret, Some Plot, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:47:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28588236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IridescentAesthete/pseuds/IridescentAesthete
Summary: two hearts broken, one corroded by an acid plague. a coin, flipped, two sides with heads embedded in its silver. one feels pain, the other a greater deal of it. no two things are equal in the game that is reality, and all is imbalanced in the pas de deux.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	pas de deux [johnten angst]

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warnings [PLEASE READ BEFORE STARTING]  
> \- mentioned gore, descriptions of blood  
> \- mentioned knives, bombs, guns and bullets, wounds, injury  
> \- papercuts  
> \- abusive relationship(s) and toxic behavior
> 
> while most these aren't essential to the story's plot, they take up a majority of the decriptions in this short story. please do not read any of this fic if you are not comfortable reading about the triggers mentioned above.
> 
> please, stay safe!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: this short story depicts an abusive, toxic relationship involving severe power imbalance. this is NOT reflective of anyone in real life. this is NOT a representation of them.

one step says regret.

ten heaves a frozen sigh into the frosted air before him, head hanging loose, fists shoved in pockets.

"this is where we say goodbye." an icicle snaps off of a shaking tree branch, tousled by the wind that scrapes the tips of their noses, tints their barren cheeks pink.

"i wish it wasn't, ten." it's ice cold, cracking and shattering under the soles of leather boots. slippery, dangerous, a precautionary tale.

"don't start wishing now, johnny. you had all the time in the world, and you wasted it. you wasted mine." it's below freezing, gas to solid, a chemical phenomenon. no time to react, no time to reverse the changes. ten reinforces the pressure, drives down the seal, filters out the oxygen.

"if i could wish for anything, i would wish that i felt the same way." he falls to his heels, feet aching to move—but to which direction, he can't decipher.

on that chicago sidewalk, the wheels of a suitcase slip and slide. a pivot, a sniff, the falling of a red-hot teardrop. one 'don't go,' another 'i'm so sorry.'

ten picks up a heel and takes one step that says regret.

two steps spell tragedy.

a man stands next to him, two inches of space. two eyes, bold and brown. they gaze at him with a strange sort of peace—recipe of a bomb, perfectly prepared to drop.

"this is my ex-boyfriend, ten." is it sharp as a knife, or dull as a stone? does it cut him right open with a single stroke, or is his bloodshed a result of a repeated impact? he feels like stumbling, lightheaded from heartbreak.

from two feet away, a young man with a body that's kind—not fit for a pas de deux, made especially for johnny.

"it's nice to finally meet you, ten." it's kind but it's heartless, plagued with sugar-sweet acid. it burns his tongue and scratches his throat, tears at the walls from the inside out. inside, he writhes, twists and turns.

he's been replaced. the worst twinge ever known rickets through his limbs. a dance, you could call it. the adrenaline pumps and immediately falters, all energy drained, no fuel left to burn through.

"i wish you two happiness." it comes out as fire, it's painful to touch. from his ex-lover, a flinch, and from the other, a smile that pierces the soul. he bleeds, he bleeds—no blood trickles out.

he waves. he pivots. he picks up his heel.

with a barenaked huff and a tear-streak painted cheek, he takes two hurried steps to spell tragedy.

three steps to forget.

one step towards the door.

"i regret letting you go."

hesitation, a breath. second thoughts cling on shoulders, pulling back. fabric bunches under their grips, dull pain of the pinches bringing his heart rate beyond the maximum.

"i should have never treated you the way i did. i should have loved you more, held you tighter, kissed you stronger. would you have stayed, had i played all my cards?" he scoffs, chuckles with disbelief. ace of spades between his lips, he hisses at the cuts on his tongue.

"and revealed your winning hand?" from his voice, the deep cut of an icicle. colder than before, a superhuman level of frozen. "if love is some sort of game of poker to you, you played against me with a rigged deck."

two steps to the handle.

"a rigged deck that brought you back here." ten's own freezing point. the light of the room's entrance taunts him, sticky notes lining his walls. you returned. for what? for pain? to experience tragedy?

paper cuts that sting his hands, deep enough to draw blood. red, angry blood. vile. uncontainable.

"did you drive taeil away with your poker as well?" silence. a beat, maybe two, then the rattle of a snake's tail.

"don't say his name. don't forget that he replaced you." a wound—a bullet wedged into his side, a dull pain from a single hit. not like a knife, nor a stone, but a high-impact pellet, pain surrounding by means of bullet spread. a shotgun, blasting loud in his ears. the headache rings.

"then, don't forget that i loved you. sounds like a fair trade to me."

the click of the knob, the shifting of weight, a stake driven into his heart.

he picks up his heel, and his third step means forgetting.

a fourth step to feel rage, at himself, at johnny, at the world.

a fifth step to accept sorrow.

two steps outside of the apartment door, into the cold air of downtown chicago, is when ten gives up the dance, for everything is unfair in this pas de deux.

**Author's Note:**

> "pas de deux" literally translates to "steps of two". the pas de deux is a dance done by two people. in a recent magazine, johnny and ten posed for a page titled "pas de deux" thus the creation of this fic.
> 
> hi!  
> i like to think of this story as a choreography. every step means something. in a more literal sense, the extra two steps towards the end represents the "steps of two" and marks the end of the choreography as ten lets go of the exhausting dance that is constantly being heartbroken by the same person. it's important to note that their relationship was unhealthy since the beginning—while ten's anger and rage does show through, it's driven by a long period of struggle.
> 
> tw for following: abusive relationship mentions 
> 
> i could never describe how much it hurts to be in an abusive relationship. no words could ever encapsulate it. this fic doesn't even begin to touch on such a serious, complex matter. use your resources to understand more of what is considered toxic and abusive, how to avoid or escape it, how you yourself can spot the red flags before matters get worse, and how to protect your loved ones from having to experience that. please, stay safe. take care of yourselves before anyone else.
> 
> i love you all and hope that you have a great rest of your day or night.  
> IridescentAesthete


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